Lifelines
by haggledore
Summary: Christmas, family drama, a mission, and an unexpected call from the past. This New Year never planned on being a restful one. But neither Q nor Bond believed they would find themselves falling slowly head over heels in love all while their world was threatening to crumble around them.
1. Chapter 1

It was hot. Not necessarily unpleasant hot. But it was definitely warm enough that he was starting to feel the uncomfortable prickles on his skin. Stepping away from the small hoard of people, Q made his way to the bar and ordered another vodka and orange. Extra ice.

The multicoloured tainted windows couldn't hide the darkness outside. As the door opened admitting another group of giggling twenty-somethings, Q felt a brief rush of cold air and sighed from the brief relief. The date was the 19th of December and he was standing at the bar of a random pub slash club (he couldn't decide which) with many of his colleagues from MI6. It was their Christmas party, organised just two days before because someone had forgotten to arrange it.

Tinsel adorned the walls and flashing fairy lights accompanied the strobe lights that lit up one half of the pub/club. That was where Moneypenny was dancing rather enthusiastically. She'd tried to rope Q into dancing but to no avail. To make up for his lack of enthusiasm, she seemed to have doubled her efforts to bring the room alive. So far she had gained a few members that supported her cause, three of Q's colleagues from Q-branch and 004. Quite an achievement.

Someone approached and leant against the bar next to Q's left elbow.

"Don't feel like joining them?"

"I didn't expect you to be here 007."

"I'm full of surprises."

"Aren't you just," Q said, turning finally to face the agent. "There was I thinking that it was impossible for Christmas to come early and then you go and return a piece of my equipment completely undamaged."

"How do you know I haven't got you another present? I could be your secret santa."

"I doubt that 007 seeing as you didn't even put your name on the list to be a part of it."

"Then Maybe I've got you a present just because I'm nice."

"There are many words to describe you," Q quipped. "And none of them are nice."

They remained standing side by side for some time, watching Moneypenny convince more and more people to dance. Soon she had even managed to drag Tanner out onto the floor. Q couldn't decide whether he had caved because of the amount of alcohol he had consumed or if it was because of her skills in persuasion. Either way it was impressive. What was not so impressive was when she bounded over to Q, grabbed his arm, and refused to let go until he was surrounded by other dancers with no hope of escape.

Instead of putting up a fight he decided to succumb to his fate. After he had caught onto the rhythm he discovered he was actually quite enjoying himself. With the steady flow of drinks handed helpfully to him by Moneypenny, Q soon found his mind was buzzing with nothing but music and laughter. And all he wanted to do was dance. Through the haze, he was sure he spotted blue eyes following him. But after downing another drink he was sure he was imagining it.

As the night wore on people began to depart. Some had work the next day and couldn't afford to get too drunk, others had families to get home to, but most were just tired and could no longer keep up with the fast paced music and loud shouts from the energetic young ones.

Out of breath and in need of a sit down, Q escaped from the throng of dancers and collapsed into a stall beside the bar.

"Who would have thought that our Quartermaster was such a good dancer?"

"You're still here?" Q slurred, blinking blearily at Bond.

"Yes," Bond replied. "You're drunk."

"Am not!" Q cried indignantly.

To demonstrate just how sober he was he got to his feet and proceeded to walk parallel to the bar in a perfectly straight line. He only made it two strides before he tripped over his own foot and went toppling down. A firm hand caught his arm just before he hit the floor.

"I think it's time to take you home."

"But we've only been here for about an hour."

"Q it's almost One O'clock in the morning."

"Oh."

He only put up some minor resistance as Bond steered him out of the building, bidding Moneypenny a swift goodbye as they left. She frowned when James said that he was taking Q home but made no comment against it, only wishing them a safe journey and insisting to Q that he drink lots of water when he got home.

From what he could remember the following morning, the taxi ride home took no time at all and he was soon tucked up in a warm bed accompanied by a large glass of water and lots of painkillers. The pillows were soft under his head and the soft bedclothes offered a safe haven from the violently spinning world around him. It didn't take long for him to drift off to sleep. Only when he was woken by weak sunlight penetrating the curtains did Q realise he wasn't in his own bed.

* * *

The room was pale, the walls milk white. A single mahogany shelf opposite the bed and two bedside tables of the same wood provided the only relief from the monotony of white. Q blinked away sleep, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. That was a big mistake. His head pounded so violently that he clutched at it. He pressed a hand to his forehead somehow believing that the pressure would alleviate the inner ache. Noticing the water on the bedside table, he chugged the whole glass down without rest.

"Do you want some more?"

James Bond was standing in the doorway, an expression of amusement adorning his too perfect features. And then everything made sense. Well not everything, but some things did. The layout of the room. The sparse furniture and simple design. It screamed absence and isolation. The room was lonely. Unloved.

"Please."

Bond left the room. His footfalls died away and then grew louder a few seconds later. Q accepted the offered second glass gratefully, only downing half of its contents before placing it carefully on the bedside table. They remained in silence for a minute or two longer. Until Q could no longer stand the quiet.

"I remember the party, well I remember parts of it. I remember dancing and I remember you insisting to Eve that you would make sure I got home safely. What I don't understand is how I managed to end up here. In your bed. Please explain, 007."

Bond took his time to settle himself more comfortably against the doorframe, then he began to speak. "I called a taxi to take you home but you refused to tell the driver where you lived. You kept telling him you worked for the Secret Service and couldn't possibly give him your address as a matter of government security. Luckily he thought you were far too drunk to take you seriously."

Q groaned and buried his head in his hands. "I promise this is the first and last time that will happen. I swear I will never drink again as long as I work for MI6."

Bond continued his story as though he hadn't been interrupted. A small smile played on his lips as he spoke. "I didn't trust you to get home safely so I told the driver to take us to my flat instead. I thought it would be cruel to make you sleep on the sofa so I gave up half of my bed to you. However, if I spent the night on the sofa my back would be killing me right now so I slept in the other half."

"We shared a bed!" Q cried, scandalised.

"Yes."

"Are you not bothered by this at all?"

"Not particularly. We are both adults and I can assure you I did not take advantage."

"I never believed you would," Q mumbled.

"Are you not used to waking up in strange men's beds?"

Q sensed the implications that came with the question. "Of strange men I've had my fair share, but trained killers not so much."

Bond huffed a laugh and silence fell between them again. Q wracked his brain to see what details he could recall of the night before, but as hard as he tried he couldn't remember anything from after they had left the party. His only recollections involved his first experiences upon waking up and his fascination with the snow white room and the unbelievably comfortable bed.

"Feel free to use the shower. There's a spare toothbrush in the cupboard under the sink. I'm going to make some breakfast."

Left alone in James Bond's bedroom, Q felt very out of place all of a sudden. Hurrying into the bathroom, which was luckily opposite the bedroom as Bond hadn't specified where it was, he hastily striped and stepped into the shower.

At first the water was far too hot and it took a while for him to figure out how to get to a temperature that suited him. Once he found it, the shower was perfect and he enjoyed a few happy minutes of tranquillity not thinking about his still pounding head, or his slipup in revealing to a random stranger that he worked for MI6. For a moment he even forgot that he had just shared a bed with James Bond. And that he was using his shower. While Bond made breakfast.

Dripping with water, Q wrapped a spare towel round his waist and opened up the cupboard Bond had indicated to find the toothbrush. While he brushed his teeth he stared around the room. It too was white, though black tiles featured amongst the white tiles at random intervals on the walls surrounding the large bathtub. The cupboards too were black. Everything was clean. Just like the bedroom, the bathroom too gave off the air of an unloved room that was there for convenience and necessity alone. This wasn't a home. It was just a place.

Redressed in his clothes from the night before, Q left the bathroom and followed the hallway into the open plan living room slash kitchen. The kitchen was tiled like a chessboard while the living room was fitted with expensive wooden floor.

"You're acting as though you're taking the walk of shame," Bond said, startling Q out of his thoughts.

"I was just..." He couldn't even say what he was doing because he actually had no idea. "Do you know where my phone is?"

"On the side there," Bond replied, gesturing to the edge of the kitchen worktop. Thanking him, Q unlocked his phone and began tapping away at the screen. "Can I get you anything to eat? You probably feel sick but eating something might help."

"Do you have anything gluten free?"

Bond searched through his cupboards for a second. Q watched him from across the kitchen noting how sparse his cupboards and fridge were of food. Clearly he didn't eat in much.

"Not that I can find. Are you on some strange diet?"

"I'm a Coeliac."

"Right," Bond nodded, feeling stupid because he hadn't guessed straight away. "I'm sorry."

Everything suddenly felt awkward. Q was exceptionally conscious of himself. Every slight movement felt like a wild swing of his joints. The tension was thick in the air that he almost struggled to draw breath.

"It's fine. Really. I should probably be going anyway. I have to work the nightshift as 004 is completing an important mission so we are going to need all hands on deck." He knew he was babbling but he couldn't stop. "Thank you for making sure I got back safely and didn't sell out all of MI6's secrets. I appreciate it."

With that he turned on his heels, collected his jacket that was hanging on a hook beside the door, and left the flat. Bond had opened his mouth to speak but Q was too fast in his departure. He shut the door firmly behind himself and leant back against it. He sighed heavily. Then he pushed himself away from the door and headed out of the building. Only when he was outside did he realise that he had no idea where he was.

The taxi driver that took him back to his own house was very helpful and it turned out that Bond and he didn't live that far away from each other. With relief, Q collapsed onto his sofa knowing that he wouldn't have to see Bond until after Christmas. He wasn't scheduled for any missions therefore it was very unlikely he would be faced with the man until the New Year. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so ready to avoid him but even Bond couldn't deny the tension between them just before Q left. The problem was he had no idea what it was. Nor what had caused it. Strange.

Sadie and Jasper mewled at Q, jumping up onto the cushions, circling and crossing over his lap until he finally gave way and fed them. Sadie was the younger of Q's two cats being only two years old compared to Jasper's five years. Jasper was black and white and could navigate any surface no matter how untidy without knocking over a single item. On the other hand, Sadie couldn't jump onto a table without tipping over a cup of tea or a glass of water. She was tabby with long ears and a stripy tail. They meowed loudly all the way to the kitchen and only settled after Q had filled up their food bowl which they had clearly emptied the night before.

Time passed all too quickly and soon enough Q was leaving for another long night at work, trying with all his might not to think about the night before. How he hoped no one had seen him and Bond leave together. He wasn't sure he'd be able to live it down.

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and will tune in for the next one (though I don't know when it will be posted) Leave a review if you can and have a wonderful christmas and a happy new year! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

The days grew even shorter. Christmas was in the air. Someone had even managed to convince M to have a Christmas tree in almost every room of MI6 (somehow Q-branch had seven). So far Q had successfully avoided Bond with a combination of deliberately scheduling meetings whenever he was in the building and by taking impromptu coffee breaks whenever he set a foot near Q-Branch. To his great relief, Bond had not dropped into Q-Branch even once. This was so odd Q was almost offended until he remembered he was avoiding the agent himself. This was until the day before Christmas Eve.

Q was just packing up to go home. It had been a long day. With the beginnings of a headache and the constant rumble of his stomach to accompany him out of the building, he was more than ready to leave that day. Dwelling too much on his current woes he was barely paying attention to where he was walking. Or rather who he was walking into.

Suddenly he hit what felt like a brick wall. Stumbling backwards he realised that the brick wall was in fact a man and that man was in fact James Bond. Great. Bloody fantastic. It was the exact opposite of what Q wanted.

"Head in the clouds, Quartermaster?"

"Sorry about that," Q said. He'd decided to act natural because that was all he could really think to do. Pretend like nothing ever happened. That seemed like the easiest plan. "I was thinking about what to cook for dinner."

"Anything interesting on the menu?"

"Usually it's just whatever I can find in the fridge combined with some bread."

"That's hardly the diet an important MI6 employee should be advocating. I'll tell M to organise you some cookery classes. Or buy you a decent cookbook for Christmas," Bond replied with his charismatic half smile before continuing his walk down the corridor. Just as he was turning left, heading in the direction of M's office, he called over his shoulder, "Merry Christmas, Q."

"And to you, 007," Q called back to him.

After the chaotic tube ride home (seriously why did people leave their Christmas shopping to the last minute?) Q was tucked up on his sofa under a warm blanket and two even warmer cats. He mulled over his conversation with Bond and decided that he hadn't made too much of an idiot of himself. The incident of falling into the agent was still quite painful but he thought he handled it fairly well.

He'd almost felt insulted by Bond's slight on his cooking abilities. However, when Q finally found the courage to move Sadie and Jasper and make his way into the kitchen, he proved Bond right. He rummaged through his fridge and found some items that he could put between bread and call a sandwich, then he flopped back onto his sofa and didn't move for the rest of the night.

As the TV played in the background and Q lazily scratched Sadie behind her ears, he wondered why Bond had been at MI6. Logging into his laptop Q easily pulled up the list of all Double-O agents that were out on missions. The list went from most to least recent and at the top of the list was James Bond aka 007, currently on a flight to Guatemala to investigate a drugs ring attempting to smuggle a substantial amount of heroine and other miscellaneous illegal drugs into the UK.

Clearly someone didn't care about Christmas. Well, Q supposed, when you have no family and hardly any friends, working over the holiday season didn't sound like a bad thing. After thinking that Q felt awful. No one should feel that alone. No one should be forced to work just to escape the monotony of loneliness. But it was too late to change anything this side of Christmas.

He opened a new tab on his laptop and began typing away. Perhaps a surprise was what the agent needed, something to break his tedious loop. Q's first stop was Amazon and then Waterstones, comparing prices between the two. He might want to cheer up the agent but he was still on a budget. Mortgages don't pay themselves.

Two cups of tea later his order was being processed and would arrive the following day at Bond's flat. Q knew he wouldn't be there but it was still nice to deliver a Christmas present before Christmas. Tradition and all that.

He just hoped Bond would appreciate the gift. Even if it was ridiculous.

* * *

It was Christmas day and Q was surrounded by family and laughter. Everyone was exchanging presents and chatting about dinner and what the Yorkshire puddings would be like and whether the Christmas Eastenders was worth the watch. Q sat by himself. Watching and smiling and taking occasional sips from his glass of wine. He spared a thought for Bond, wondering what he was doing on Christmas day.

* * *

It was Christmas day and Bond was surrounded by strangers and noise. Everyone was dancing and drunk and singing songs that Bond had either never heard of or else thought were terrible. Bond sat by himself. Staring and thinking and downing far too many whiskeys that the barman helpfully provided. He spared a thought for Q, wondering what he was doing on Christmas day.

* * *

Q returned to work the day after Boxing Day feeling strangely well-rested. He entered MI6 and made his way down to Q branch without any difficulty. There was no paperwork waiting for him on his desk and no call from M saying he had a meeting to prep for. It was a very good morning indeed.

It was nearing lunchtime when Moneypenny entered his office without knocking. She was carrying two mugs full of steaming tea and a parcel wedged under her arm. Placing one mug in front of Q, she sat down in the seat on the other side of his desk, taking an experimental sip of her own mug. She withdrew quickly. It was still far too hot to drink.

"This arrived for you. It's been scanned to see if there's anything dangerous inside but the tests were all clear."

"Know who it's from?" Q asked, taking the proffered package and examining it.

It was heavy and rectangular. The brown packaging displayed no company name or logo to suggest where it had come from. Only the name of Q's department and the address printed neatly on a white sticker that had been pasted on the front.

"It must have come from one of the companies we work with otherwise they wouldn't have been able to deliver it here. Unless it was ordered by someone who works here, but even then, they would have let me know."

"So you haven't ordered anything in. Any parts for any of your projects?"

"No. Well not anything that would fit into a parcel this shaped."

Q continued to stare at it for some time. Thinking and wondering but coming to no conclusions. By the time he had got through half of his mug of tea Moneypenny was losing her patience.

"Will you just open the damn thing? This suspense is killing me!" She cried, nearly upsetting her tea down her white blouse in frustration.

Sensing some injury would be inflicted upon him if he refused, Q opened the package from one end and pulled out its contents. They both stared down at what was revealed, Q in surprise and amusement, Moneypenny in complete confusion.

"A cookbook."

"A gluten-free cookbook for beginners."

"Is this some kind of joke?" She frowned, not having any idea how or why it was funny. To her it was just plain strange.

"Yes and no. To be honest I think he is actually quite serious."

"Who?" Moneypenny was getting quite impatient.

"Bond."

"James Bond, I mean to say, _the_ James Bond sent you a cookbook for Christmas. He actually sent you a Christmas present? M and Tanner didn't get a Christmas present, hell I didn't even get a Christmas present."

Q was hardly listening to her ranting. He was far too concerned with the book in his hand and the present that was waiting for Bond to discover on his return. What did this mean? He'd decided to send his present to Bond as a joke and an unspoken thank you for his kindness and hospitality and as an apology for his rudeness and abrupt departure. That was his reason. So why had Bond decided to send him a present? It was hardly a gesture of goodwill. He didn't seem the kind of man for spontaneous gifts. No. Everything meant something with James Bond, nothing was ever simple. Q would just have to wait and hope that everything would soon make sense.

Pfft. Like that was going to happen.

The days wore on and New Year passed in a wave on alcohol and family parties. Bond still hadn't returned from his mission in Guatemala as it was proving more difficult to take down his targets than first anticipated. Q had spoken to him a handful of times, first thanking him for the gift that the agent pretended to know nothing about before reverting back to his original duties of guiding him through his mission, infiltrating the right groups, interrogating the right suspects, et cetera et cetera.

* * *

It was on the first Wednesday of the New Year that Bond returned to MI6. He looked extremely tired and had bruised hands and cuts up his arms and one just below his left eye. Though reluctant as ever, Bond caved quickly under Moneypenny's insistence and went down to medical to be checked over. He was patched up within ten minutes before he was ushered down to Q-Branch to return his equipment.

The room was buzzing with activity when he entered. Minions were darting from bench to bench examining new plans they would present to Q at a later date or else discussing a recent mission. Either way, no one was paying much attention as he walked into the high-ceilinged room. Well no one except Q.

"Happy New Year, Quartermaster," he greeted jovially.

"It was until you returned without my equipment in your hand."

"Ah," Bond said.

"Ah," Q mimicked. "Why couldn't your New Year's resolution be to bring my equipment back?"

"Because resolutions are supposed to be slightly achievable."

Q sighed and shook his head, taking the few shattered pieces of Bond's gun that he had managed to salvage. He had no idea how one man could be so destructive. His mission had been slightly difficult but that didn't explain how he had managed to turn his gun into a few pieces of scrap. Well, Q supposed, he should really have gotten used to it by now.

"I bumped into M on the way down here."

"Hmm," Q said distractedly. He was already tapping away at his keyboard again having swept the useless fragments that used to be a gun into the bin. They were no use to anyone now.

"He's given me two weeks leave."

"That's generous of him," Q replied, wondering why the agent was telling him this.

"Yes...well."

Bond shifted his weight from foot to foot then he nodded once and walked out of Q branch without a backwards look. Q continued to type away, his brow furrowed. Every conversation with the agent puzzled him even more. Why should he care if Bond had been given time off?

The two weeks passed in a flurry of activity where hardly a thought was spared for the unusual behaviour of the agent. Q filled his time developing new creations, modifying old models, guiding agents through missions. The usual.

On the day Bond's two weeks leave ended he was back at Q's desk waiting for the Quartermaster to hand over his equipment. As quickly as he had entered, he exited the office with a new Walther PPK and a small smile playing on his lips. Two hours later he was on a flight to Sydney where he would be spending an unguessable amount of time investigating some people for some so far unidentified crime. Apparently looking suspicious was enough to send you across the world now.

"All set?"

Bond had landed the day before and was loath to admit that he was suffering severely from jetlag. But he was allowed no sleep. On the contrary, Q had insisted waking him up at the ungodly hour of five O'clock to make sure he would be in position to intercept his target.

"He's probably not even awake yet," he grumbled, buttoning up his shirt.

"Irrelevant," Q responded in a crisp tone. "Now leave your room and don't forget the room key."

The agent walked to the door and picked up the key, twirling it once round his finger. "What would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn," was the sarcastic comment he received. "I usually wouldn't care if you remembered the key but seeing as last time when you forgot it you shot a hole through the keyhole and we had to cover the damages, I think it's fair to take precautions."

"That was one time Q. And I was in a hurry."

"Taking a woman to your room just to have sex with her doesn't constitute as a good reason to fire a gun in a public place, in my opinion."

Bond opened his mouth to retort but was cut short by the beep of the line disconnecting. He was alone once again.

* * *

The sun rose quickly and the day grew hotter. Bond took his time wandering around the Sydney coastline, waiting for news of his target. Things were going much slower than anticipated and he hadn't heard from Q, or anyone for that matter, for nearly six hours.

It was nearing lunchtime when he admitted defeat and took shelter in an air-conditioned bar beside the gently sloping sands that led down to the inviting waves. After ordering a drink, he settled himself on a stool. He was turned enough in his seat that he was able to have a clear view of the bar while maintaining a close look at the beach. A gentle breeze wafted through, hardly strong enough to upset the sand.

With little else to do, Bond pulled out a rather crumpled book from his pocket. He smoothed the pages out as best he could and flicked through until he found the page with the corner turned down. Settling back and accepting a second drink from the barman, he began to read.

"How's the book going?"

Bond had to work very hard not to throw said book across the bar and draw his gun. "Jesus Christ, Q!"

"I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't expect you to be so engaged."

"Well it's a surprisingly good read."

"It's one of the books I got you for Christmas."

"Very observant, your hacking skills are as disconcerting as ever."

"I like to maintain an air of mystery. Makes the job a lot more fun."

Bond huffed a laugh. He closed the book and stared at the cover from where it rested on his knee.

"Thank you, by the way. I forgot to say it before I left."

"I'm just glad you like it."

"A series about a secret agent. Lots of guns and suspense. What's not to love?"

"It came highly recommended. You'll be pleased to know the cookbook you gave me has come in very handy."

Unfortunately their discussion was cut short by a sudden wave of gunfire at the opposite end of the beach. By the time Bond had got there – having 'borrowed' a motorbike from a thoroughly confused middle-aged man – he was met with three dead bodies and the murderers already safely speeding away in their bulletproof car. The police were useless, arriving too late. As usual. Bond recommended they call the local morgue as he searched through their pockets. They stood stunned as he finished his task and began to walk off down the seafront.

"You need to stop terrorising the local police force," Q said, causing the agent to smile.

The day was fading. Bond had been sent on a wild goose chase all across the city after the missing car and he'd only managed to catch a glimpse at his targets in that time. Q had half of Q-Branch investigating the three mysterious murders as so far they seemed completely unrelated to the group that shot them. The Quartermaster had finally managed to track down which hotel the group were staying in and Bond was ready and in place to greet them.

"It makes my day more entertaining. It's a difficult job, you know," Bond commented, reclining in his seat and taking a sip from his newly arrived cocktail.

"Yes you really seem to be exerting yourself," Q replied and Bond could hear the distant tapping of his fingertips on his laptop.

"You should take a trip Q, get out of the office. Kick back and relax in the sun."

Q scoffed. "Remember this please, 007, when you're in the middle of a particularly difficult mission, being shot at or whatever it is you do best and in need my assistance, just keep in mind that it was you who told me to drop everything and go swaning off to the Bahamas for a bit of _me_ time."

"Lighten up Q, it was a joke. I can just imagine you kicking back by a pool getting a tan while drinking a margarita."

"Your target just arrived by the way. To your left, the man in the dark suit accompanied by a fair-haired woman in the tight-fitted dress," his Quartermaster replied, blatantly ignoring his words. "And for the record, I don't tan."

"Bu-," Bond made to protest but was interrupted.

"Focus on the mission 007. The sooner this is over the sooner we can all get on with our lives."

With a smirk on his face, Bond heard the line disconnect, knowing that somewhere far across the world back in London where it was probably raining, there was a tired out quartermaster rolling his eyes and sighing in mock irritation as he looked back at his screen and continued with his work.

* * *

 _Thank you to those sticking with me despite the sporadic updates. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll see you next time :)_


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